


The Age of Innocence

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-15
Updated: 2007-11-15
Packaged: 2018-12-17 17:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11856165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: #6 in The Fountain of Youth Series. Daniel discovers heretofore untapped athletic abilities, only to have his new prowess swept out from under him by a devastating turn of events.





	The Age of Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

The Age of Innocence

 

"Strike one!" The umpire's arm flashes out, one finger extended on his right hand. 

The ball whizzes over the plate again. 

"Strike two!" Right hand repeat, two fingers out.

"Keep your eye on the ball," I'm chanting under my breath. "Keep your eye on the ball." On one side of me, Carter's holding her breath. On the other side, the doc's got her eyes closed, praying, I presume, since I can hear her mumbling Hail Mary's under her breath. Either that or she thinks we're playing football.

"Ball one!" The left hand flashes, one finger extended. "Ball two! Two and two!" the umpire calls, bending again over the head of the catcher.

Daniel steps out of the batter's box, digs the tip of his bat into the dirt, takes a practice swing, and steps back up to the plate.

Who would have imagined our Littlest Ancient would have the soul of Hank Aaron? Or that as he's standing at home plate watching the ball come toward him, he's calculating planetary drift? 

I'm sorry, who would ever have imagined Daniel Jackson could play baseball?

"YES!" 

A thunderous crack - so loud I wonder if he's split the bat - and Daniel's running for all he's worth. The first base coach is screaming at him to go on to second! 

Carter, Doc and I are glued to the fence, fingers clenched in the octagonal chain links, breathlessly watching our kid skid around second and head for third as the third base coach thunders, "Slide, Danieljackson! Slide!"

Head first, arm outstretched, Daniel slides into third a hairsbreadth in front of the outstretched, rapidly descending glove of the short stop.

"Safe!" bellows the umpire, barely discernable above the roar of the crowd.

My heart is pounding as if I'm the one who just ran the bases. Behind me Carter and the doc exchange a high five, whooping it up right along with the rest of the team. 

Me? I'm too busy screaming at my kid. "Way to go, Sport! A triple!"

Daniel's grin watts up by fifty percent at least. "Come on, Kenny! Get me in!" he yells to his teammate in the on-deck circle.

If we loose tonight, we're done. This will be our final game of the season. Since there are only eight teams, everybody's in the playoffs and to make it fun, if not fair, the playoffs are sudden death. So if a really good team has a really bad night? Oh well, too bad, better luck next year.

We're undefeated so far; however, the Holy Mackerels have given us a run for our money tonight. 

They're motivated. We heard they've been holding extra practices and it's clearly done them some good. This is not the team we soundly trounced three weeks ago. 

They're so much better, we're up for the last at bat with two outs already and our tying run is standing at home plate, looking for the big pitch.

Their third baseman lucked out with a pop foul on our first batter and our second batter was thrown out at first.

Kenny's our clean-up batter, fourth in the line-up. He's a big kid, with lots of power for an eight-year-old, but he's not consistent. I would have put him first or second, or fifth; too risky at fourth. Fortunately, the Mack's aren't gonna take a chance on him hitting one out of the park, and behind us Kenny's mom is giving the Mack coaches a piece of her mind and a lot of lip. 

The three of us exchange chagrined looks. So that's what we sound like when we're haranguing the coaches. 

Hey, our team feels like we're here to play, not play games. For cryin’ out loud, it's not like somebody's salary cap is on the line here. Is it really necessary to deliberately walk an eight-year-old? Or a seven-year-old, in the case of Daniel, which is why we might have been haranguing the coaches. 

A little.

Occasionally.

When they do really stupid things . . . like walking our kid.

Kenny pitches his bat into the dirt and exchanges insults with Daniel across the field as he jogs out to first and leads off.

"Run on anything, you guys!" Carter screams - in my ear.

"Yeah! Run on anything!" Fraiser screams - in my other ear.

"The minute the ball leaves the pitcher's hand!" I yell - for good measure. 

I'm pretty sure the rest of the team parents think we're nuts. We don't give a damn. We're having the time of our lives! Who'd have imagined three adults and an alien, all of whom work for the United States government, in a top secret facility with the highest clearance levels available, could be so into Little League?

Well, we are. Unashamedly so. 

So sue us.

Oh! Oh, oh, oh! My sweetheart's up to bat. Seven-year-old CoriAnne Martel, of the beautiful long, dark hair, always pulled back neatly in a ponytail, and the to-die-for smile usually hidden behind a hand because she just acquired braces. Unfortunately, while she's a darlin' little thing, she hasn't connected with the ball once this season.

Dammit! Can't we get a pinch hitter in for her?

Oh. Yeah. This is Little League.

"Come on Cori!" Daniel, who has a crush on her too, yells from third. "Just get on base. That's all you need to do!"

"All right! Come on in everybody," shouts one of the in-fielders. "We've won! She can't even hit the ball."

"Hey, shut up," Daniel defends. "She can too hit the ball."

Miss CoriAnne saunters up to the plate as if she owns the thing.

"You go, CoriAnne!" I holler from the sidelines, pleased when she grins at me over her shoulder. "That's my girl! Put it right over the center fielder's head!"

"Run on anything, you guys!" the women next to me are screaming again.

"Holy Mackerels, where's the play?" their coach yells from the sidelines. 

Did I mention the local Presbyterian Church is the team sponsor for the Mackerels? And their preacher likes to fish? I suspect it was somebody's idea of a joke that stuck. 

"First base!"

"No stoopid, second base!"

"Wherever it's easiest! We've already got two outs!"

"If you can't get it to home," the coach has the final word, "go for the force at second or first!"

"Play ball," the umpire barks as CoriAnne steps into the batter's box.

The rattle of ice in a Starbucks cup can be heard halfway across the park. All eyes turn to the rattler, who sets the cup down on the bleacher and puts both hands up in surrender.

The pitcher zips one into the strike zone. 

CoriAnne watches it sail by.

"That's it, keep your eye on the ball, Cori! Good job!"

"Sir?" Carter sucks air as the umpire calls strike one.

"Relax, Carter. She's gonna do fine."

"Strike two! Two and O!"

CoriAnne wiggles the bat slightly, bends her knees just a little more and relaxes into the batter's stance. She's watching the ball, watching the ball . . . watching . . . BAM!

You'd think the center fielder has on Air Jordans with the height he gets on his jump. We all hear the solid smack of the ball as he tumbles down in a heap and groan collectively. Then cheer madly as the ball bounces out of his glove!

Daniel, who slid into home just for the hell of it, jumps up and flings himself around as the crowd surges to its collective feet screaming - the Mackerel’s at their kid to get the ball, get the ball - our team screaming for CoriAnne to come on, come on!

Teal'c holds her at third as the ball hums in to the pitcher, who immediately tosses it home where the eight-year-old catcher has thrown aside his mask and is crouched over the plate again, after having been barrelled over by Kenny. 

Our winning run is now on third.

"Way to go, Cori!" Daniel screams, flailing air with a fist. "Way to go!" He jogs around the batter's cage to our side of the field, panting. "Did you see that! Did you see the way she hit that ball! Man! She must have been practicing! Jack! Did you see that hit?"

"We did!" Janet enthuses, "she was great, wasn't she. Want your water bottle, Daniel?"

"Not now," Daniel waves it away when Doc tries to hand it to him. "I'm not thirsty. I'm going back over to third to cheer on Cori!"

"Stay behind the foul line!" I holler after him, uselessly. Not only have I already been tuned out, the crowd is yelling again.

We must have missed something. The three of us turn back to the field as one entity. 

Oh, the Mackerel’s are changing out their center fielder. The kid must have hurt himself when he fell. 

Janet's instantly on her way, detouring only to grab up the first aid kit she regularly hauls along in her backpack. It looks like she's digging out one of those cool snap-ice thingys as she trots over.

The game resumes after a short pause while the near hero is helped off the field, forgiven because he at least gave it his all. 

Hey, they are only six to eight year olds.

It's anticlimatic after that. Jeremy smacks the next pitch into right field, just short of the glove of the right fielder, and CoriAnne lazily lopes across home plate.

Game over. 

Our first play off game in the bag.

Someone starts a chorus of Queen's, 'We Are the Champions', man are we dating ourselves or what, as wild, throat torturing screaming ensues. Kids and adults alike are pounding each other on the back, jumping up and down, generally acting like a bunch of hooligans.

Carter and Janet are in the thick of it, with Daniel and CoriAnne. I drift back. The special ops Colonel in me still doesn't do crowds well. 

Teal'c materializes at my elbow. "Is this some right of initiation, O'Neill?" he inquires, turning his head in the direction of the shenanigans going on over by the water cooler.

A couple of wannabe professional sports junkies have grabbed the cooler and are pouring it over coach's head. 

Friends, I think. 

The guy's young; this is only his second year coaching. His seven-year-old, a girl, is already pitching and that kid's got an arm like you wouldn't believe. He must have started her throwing as soon as she could hold a ball. They have a toddler, too, a boy. The whole family, plus extended relatives and friends, comes to the games regularly. 

"Looking a little wet there, Coach," I say as the trio passes us.

"Colonel!" Coach Dijon thrusts out a hand, grabs me by the wrist and yanks me into a hug. "Your kid is awesome, man! I can't wait to see what he does when he gets a little bigger. We got this playoff thing in the bag, brother!"

"Yeah, he is, isn't he," I agree wholeheartedly, clapping Dijon on the back just as enthusiastically. "Don't forget, Baskin & Robbins tonight. I promised Daniel. The whole team, family and friends too. It's on me."

"Hey, bro, we're not likely to forget something like that now, are we? Teal'c, my man!" Dijon slaps our resident Jaffa on the back. "Excellent job on third base! Thanks for hanging with us, brother!"

Teal'c, hands behind his back, gives his customary head bow. "It has been my immense pleasure, Coachdijon."

"You riding shotgun with me, T? Or are you riding with the women?" I'm looking around for Daniel as I ask this. I should probably stop at an ATM before we get there. I'm not sure Baskin & Robbins takes credit cards and I'm not particularly keen on doing the dishes after this crowd.

Daniel is weaving his way toward us, looking up occasionally to check for familiar faces. It's been so long since I was a short person I've forgotten how disconcerting it can be to only see waists when you're in the middle of a crowd. After awhile, jeans and t-shirts start looking an awful lot alike from that angle.

"Hey, you. You okay?" 

He's holding his side like he's in pain, but the minute I ask, the hand drops self-consciously and he pastes a grin on his face. "I'm fine. We're going for ice cream aren't we? You promised, Jack!" 

I wanna know where this kid learned to lie like that and why he ever needed to.

"Yep, we're ready to head out. I need to go to the ATM. Want to come with us or stay and come with Carter and the doc?" 

Daniel loves the ATM. Press a few buttons, input the magic password, and presto, it purrs for a couple of seconds and spits out twenty dollar bills. What could possibly be cooler than a machine that gives you money?

And just incase you're thinking the Gate is way cooler than a machine that spits out money? Daniel's seen the Gate. He's not impressed.

Wait until we take him through it.

Daniel looks around, spies Carter talking to CoriAnne's mom and heads their direction. "I'll ride with Sam and Janet!"

"Hey, Teal'c, Jack," Paige, Cori's mom, greets us. "I guess the kids are going to ride with Sam and Janet when Janet's done with Frankie." 

Daniel and Carter have already ditched Paige for the more fascinating topic of _'what happened to Frankie, the center fielder'._ "Want to ride with me, Teal'c?"

"As it is not far to the place of frozen juice of the bovine, O'Neill has engaged me to ride shotgun for him, Mrspaige."

"Oh." Mrspaige is twenty-three, a single mom, and fascinated with Teal'c. She hasn't quite gotten the hang of hiding her disappointment. "Guess, I'll see you guys there." 

"Hey, Cori did great tonight," I offer, trying to ease the rejection. "She got a great hit."

"She did do great, thanks to you, Colonel. You've given her a lot of confidence. Thank you for taking the time to work with her."

"My pleasure, we had a great time."

It wasn't my idea, and frankly, I was a little pissed at Teal'c for passing the buck without leaving a back door open to weasel out of it. 

Paige very politely asked if he had any extra time he might be able to spend working with Cori - give her some pointers on throwing and batting, etc. 

T very kindly deferred her to me as the one with the baseball expertise. 

I coulda shot him on sight. 

Instead, I ended up agreeing, of all things, to a couple extra practice sessions with her kid. Maybe I should make Teal'c pay for this tonight. He owes me. 

So an hour and a half later the three kids behind the counter at B&R are looking a little worse for wear. And I'm passing a wad of twenty's over the counter when somone gets fresh with my leg. 

I look around. We're packed in here like sardines. It's probably impossible to move without getting fresh with someone, but there are no women hanging around. So I look down.

And find Daniel leaning against me. That ring finger is shoved into his mouth up to the first knuckle and he's gnawing on it as though it were a bone.

"What's wrong, Sport?"

He tilts his head back, grabs my leg to keep from falling, and looks up at me. "Nothin’. Why?"

"You're chewing again." 

"Oh." He pulls the finger out. "Can we go home now?"

"You tired?"

"Uh huh."

I pull another twenty out of my pocket and stuff it, along with the change, into the tip cup. "I'm ready." I offer, in Daniel speak, to carry him, holding out both hands.

His free hand comes up to clamp around my forearm.

"Jump," I tell him. It's too crowded in here to swing him up like I usually do and without that momentum, I'm not sure my knees will let me pick him straight up off the floor.

As soon as I have him situated, his head is on my shoulder, face turned into my neck, those women-would-kill-for-them eyelashes tickling me every time he blinks.

"Any idea where the rest of . . . our crew disappeared to?" I start to say SG-1 and realize I'm still in a public place.

"Outshide," Daniel says, around his finger.

"So what kind of ice cream did you have tonight?"

"Uhm," Daniel thinks a moment, sits up and pulls his finger out of his mouth. "I had some of Sam's raspberry sherbet, a taste of Janet's lemon merlot pie . . ."

"Meringue, maybe?" I suggest.

He gives me a look when I interrupt his recital. "Kenny let me have some of his bubble gum ice cream," on this he puts his tongue out to show me the gum in his mouth. "Uhm, oh, and Coach let me taste his licorice."

"And what kind did you get for yourself?"

"Oh," he says airily, though his head goes back down on my shoulder, "I was too busy to get my own. I just ate everybody else’s." The finger slides back in his mouth.

"I see. Hope you're not sick tonight from eating everybody else’s. Ahh, found you," I pronounce, as I come up on my team lounging on the window ledge in front of the store.

"Couldn't have been looking too hard, sir. We've been here the whole time. Daniel, you want the rest of this?"

Daniel tilts his head to look in the cup Carter holds out. "What is it?"

"Banana split."

Ooo, yuck. Banana split and raspberry sherbet? 

"No, thank you."

"Want the rest of mine?" Janet asks. "It's plain old chocolate chip."

"I don't want anymore. We're going home. Will you take Teal'c home, Sam? So we can go straight home? I'm tired."

"Excuse me? Are you driving, young man?"

"Are you tired too, Jack? You want me to drive home?"

"Smart ass," I laugh despite myself. "When it's your car and you're driving, you get to decide who's riding with you. Until then, you get to ride along with whoever I choose to take along, okay?" I jog him when he doesn't answer right away and get a crick in my neck trying to pull back enough to look at him.

He rolls his eyes at me. "I just want to go home.

"I know you do, but we practically pass the Base on the way home and Carter and the doc are going out for drinks in the opposite direction."

"CoriAnne and I would be happy to drop you off, Teal'c," Paige trills, sneaking up on us more efficiently than a Goa'uld mothership in stealth mode. "It's right on our way."

Teal'c does his famous head inclination. "Thank you, Mrspaige, but I have already agreed to be the designated driver for Majorcarter and Doctorfrasier." He produces Doc's Jeep keys with a sleight of hand movement, because I know damn well those keys were in Janet's pocket a moment ago.

The women both smile benignly. 

Hey, we stick together.

"Want to join us, Paige? CoriAnne could go home with the Colonel. We could pick her up there later."

Behind Paige's back I'm giving them both the evil eye. Teal'c's face remains totally bland, though a muscle clenches in his jaw.

"Thanks," she sighs, "but I have to work tonight."

"Oh, too bad," Janet says, in a voice I know too well, the one that tells me I should have known better. "Maybe some other time."

"I want to go home with Daniel and Colonel Jack," CoriAnne pipes up from beside her mother.

"Not tonight, Cori. Tell Colonel Jack thank you for the ice cream. And for the help he gave you learning to throw and hit."

Daniel twitches in my arms, though he doesn't sit up. "You helped her? That's why she could bat tonight even though she hasn't hit the ball since we started?"

"I did. Why? Are you jealous?" I grin down at Daniel.

"How come you didn't tell me?"

"Because CoriAnne wanted to keep it a secret. She asked me not tell."

"You could have told me," Daniel says idignantly.

"Then it wouldn't have been a secret would it, CoriAnne?"

CoriAnne dimples beguilingly. "Thank you for keeping my secret, Colonel Jack, and for helping me learn to bat. It was really fun to surprise everybody tonight!" 

Man oh man, in another few years she's gonna be a heartbreaker. 

"And thank you for taking our whole team for ice cream tonight!"

"You're welcome," my passenger responds. "Can we go home now, Jack?"

"Sounds like somebody's ready for bed, Colonel," Janet remarks, standing on tiptoe to give Daniel a kiss and a pat on the back. "Did you have a good time tonight, Daniel?"

He nods, the finger in his mouth preventing an answer, though I can see from Janet's smile, he's given her one of those patented Daniel smiles we rarely saw on our adult archeologist.

"See you in the morning?" Carter asks him, brushing back his sweaty hair to kiss his forehead.

He nods again, pulls his finger out long enough to kiss Sam when she puckers up for a goodnight kiss and shoves it back in as soon as he's met his obligation. 

Teal'c gets a sleepy nod and a grunt.

So we do the Walton's routine, except its g'nite, Carter, g'nite Doctor Frasier, etc., etc., and part to our separate vehicles. 

I overhear Doc say loudly, "So, Teal'c, heard from Ishta lately?"

"Indeed, Doctorfrasier, I received a communication from her two days ago, I believe we will be able to arrange a meeting soon . . ."

The rest of Teal'c's comments are lost to me as I settle a rag doll Daniel into the backseat of the truck and buckle him in. I'm pretty sure their intended audience gets the whole nine yards though.

Now somebody needs to tell her he's a hundred and five years old.

Daniel reanimates for a few minutes. He really wants to a do a play-by-play of the entire game, but the finger in his mouth keeps slurring his words and he can’t seem to finish a thought, winding down in the middle of a sentence like a music box with a broken spring. He doesn't stir when I unbuckle him from his seatbelt and carry him into the house. 

He does wake enough to be accommodating as I take a washcloth to his hands and face. Obviously he didn't need any ice cream of his own, based on what he's wearing. He puts his arms up and shimmies into pajamas willingly enough, though it's like pouring barely set-up jello into a plastic bag. The minute his head hits the pillow that ring finger slides back in his mouth and he's sucking for all he's worth, but only for a minute and then he's conked out.

There are days when I hope to God this is temporary, that Carter will figure this out and we'll get adult Daniel back again. And then there are stand out days like today when he's so happy, it hurts to watch him almost as much as it hurt to watch him when he was so unhappy in those months before he ascended. 

He could do so much more, be so much more this time around without all that baggage our adult Daniel has carried around most of his life.

Maybe this is better. If anybody deserves a second chance at a new beginning, it's Daniel Jackson. He's already done more for Earth than any one man should ever be called on to do for their country, or even their world. 

I'm tired too, but it takes a while to wind down. Yeah, I'm just as pumped as Daniel and the adrenalin takes a little longer to fade in this adult body. The ball game on TV doesn't hold my attention, it's not nearly as fun as the Little League game I just watched, so I opt for a quick shower, hunt up the last paperback I brought home, and fall into bed. 

I think I get through the first page before the alarm clock buzzes me awake.

Daniel's dragging when I get him up. It takes him half an hour to shower and dress and he's only got one sock on when he trails into the kitchen, tennis shoes dangling from both hands by velcro straps.

"Where's your other sock?" I put a hand to his forehead. "Are you feeling all right?" He's warm, but it's the just recently out of shower kind of warm, not sick kind of warm.

He leans against me wearily, covering a yawn with an elbow as the shoes thud to the floor. "In my pocket." He doesn't respond to the second question.

I'm half tempted to take the day off. We're not scheduled off world today and I could have work couriered out, let him stay home and veg.

But then he shoves off my leg and climbs onto the barstool where I've set out OJ and toast. He pulls his foot up on the stool, drags out his other sock and puts it on before getting up on his knees to take the glass of orange juice in both hands. 

Because of the unusual behavior this morning, I pay more attention, notice he eats about two bites of toast and maybe takes a couple more sips of OJ before surreptitiously crumbling the rest of the toast to make it look like he's eaten more.

"I'm done, Jack. Can I go brush my teeth now?" He waits, cheek resting in his hand, expecting I'm sure, to be told to eat some more.

"Go ahead. Maybe you'll be hungry by the time we get to the Base. We can eat with Teal'c and Carter this morning." Too much excitement, too many late nights, it's no wonder he's tired. The General won't mind if we cut out early today.

The crumbs go in the trash, the orange juice gets put back in the fridge and ten minutes later we're in the truck headed for the Mountain.

Daniel sleeps the whole way in and I'm feeling like an ogre when I have to wake him up. He lets me carry him inside, which in itself is unusual. 

We had an initial clingy stage right at the beginning of this whole Fountain of Youth thing, where he wanted to be carried all the time, I think for the security of knowing an adult was around. However, his mile wide independent streak quickly reasserted itself. 

At breakfast, Carter has a present for him. I finally made her stop buying him clothes, she won't buy him anything but blue and while Daniel could care less what he's wearing, blue is not his favorite color. So I’m wondering what’s she done now.

She hands him a box across the table. "I found these the other day and thought you'd like them. If you don't, I'll take them back."

An unusually subdued Daniel pulls the top off, stares for a moment into the box, then his face lights up. The whoop and abandoned lid clattering to the floor draw glances from all over the Mess, and then smiles and chuckles as Daniel snatches a pair of miniature BDU pants and a black t-shirt out of the box. He slides off his chair to hold them up to his waist and does a little dance, whooping again. "These are the best, Sam!"

"Ya think?" Carter glances at me with a grin of her own. "Why don't you open this box?" She trades the second box for the pants and for a moment, Daniel just stands staring at her, his mouth hanging open. Then the second lid comes off and he pulls out a tiny BDU jacket, with a miniature SGC patch sewn on the left shoulder and an equally small SG-1 patch sewn on the right shoulder. He is immediately dragging his t-shirt over his head to exchange it for the black one. 

"Here," he flings the red shirt at me, his muffled thank you’s to Carter becoming clearer as his head pops out of the black one. Sam holds up the jacket and he slides his arms in, pulling the sleeve around to stare at the SG-1 insignia. His smile is radiant as he flings his arms around Carter. "For cryin’ out loud," he quotes, "I can't believe it! Thanks, Sam!"

"You're welcome. I thought you'd like them."

"I love them!" 

"They've been washed several times so you can wear them today."

Daniel does a little hop, skip, and a jump thing that looks kinda like a white man's interpretation of break dancing.

"I had no idea you could sew, Carter," I drawl. "And aren't those patches classified?"

"Yes, sir, but Daniel has clearance. I reduced them on my scanner and had the company that makes the patches for us, make smaller ones." She totally ignores the sewing comment.

"And now you appear exactly analogous to the rest of us, Danieljackson."

"What's ah . . . nail . . ." Daniel tilts his head. "What's that word mean, Teal'c?"

"It means you look exactly like the rest of us," Carter supplies.

"Well, I still have to change into the pants," Daniel points out. He would like to do so immediately, but his little Puritan heart doesn't allow for such wardrobe changes in the open, even at seven. "Can I go change in the bathroom, Jack?"

"Sure. We'll wait for you, okay?"

"Thanks!" He scurries off across the Mess, oblivious to the voices calling out to him as he passes, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"Is he feeling, okay, sir? He's been kind of quiet this morning, at least until now," Carter observes.

"I think all these late nights are catching up with him."

"Did he imbibe sustenance at home, O'Neill? He ate very little here this morning."

"No, he didn't eat much at home either, T." We all turn to watch as he trots back across the Mess, dragging his jeans behind him. "I think he's just tired. I'm gonna try and make it an early day today so we can get home at a decent hour, maybe even get to bed early tonight."

"I don't want to go to bed early," he says, frowning as he overhears this last comment. 

"No?" I raise an eyebrow as I choke down the last swallow of acidic Base coffee. Now that Daniel's no longer brewing hard core caffeine constantly in his office, Carter and I have had to relearn how to imbibe the usual Air Force swill. "You didn't want to get out of bed this morning."

"Oh.” He waves his hands and shakes his head. "That was hours ago. Aren't you done yet, Jack?" He crawls back up onto his chair so he can get a good look at my plate. "Teal'c's done," he announces, pleased. "I'm ready to go to work. Are you ready, T?"

I nearly spit out my mouthful of coffee. Carter manages to turn her laugh into a cough and Teal'c just raises an eyebrow.

"I am, Danieljackson. Let us take our trays and commence with our morning exercises."

Daniel bounces back down off his chair and I wonder briefly where the kid who fell asleep in the truck has disappeared to, but don't worry about it much. 

SG-1's resident archeologist and our Jaffa leave the Mess hand in hand, Daniel with his head craned back, chattering up at the massive alien, Teal'c, dark head attentively bent, listening.

Carter and I watch until they disappear through the double doors, then glance at each other with rueful smiles. 

"He is such a joy, sir. I almost hate to think about changing him back."

"I know, Major. I was thinking the same thing last night."

"I know we all agreed, sir, the best thing for Daniel is to figure this out, but . . ."she trails off, shrugs, and adds, "I don't know, maybe it's not."

I frown and circle my orange juice glass on the table so it makes the condensation ring larger. "I don't have any answers either, Carter. At this point, I'm not going to recommend we stop looking for them though."

"No, sir, I agree. We shouldn't give up . . . yet."

I pick up both our trays. "Paper work's calling my name, Major. If I don't get to it, we may not get out of here for another two weeks."

"Anything I can do to help, sir?"

"Doubt it. But thanks for the thought."

Since Daniel's with Teal'c I can pretty much put him out of my mind, although the image of his head popping out of that t-shirt and the grin on his face is indelibly painted in my mind today. I'll give it a couple hours and if I just can't settle into this, I'll have to stroll down to the converted storeroom we turned into Daniel's classroom. 

In his role as First Prime to the Goa'uld Apophis, Teal'c would have chosen a young Jaffa to mentor and train as Bra'tac did with him. A successor who would follow in his footsteps, perhaps even his own son, if things hadn't taken a dramatic turn for him at the tender age of ninety-nine.

I knew he'd be good at this teaching thing; I had no clue how good. 

He took Daniel through a series of surprisingly fun tests and determined Daniel learns best by doing, so for instance, instead of memorizing formula and working out algebra problems on paper, they’re building a house. Granted, it's a scale house, but Daniel's learning how to calculate volume and area for practical purposes and studying algebra without even knowing he's doing math, which he's not particularly fond of. 

Carter's doing the whole planetary shift thing with him again, teaching him how to calculate the distances and new trajectories several thousands years of stellar drift have caused. I'm guessing that's way beyond algebra, but Daniel's soaking it up like a damp sponge. She's also covering the Biology part of the science requirements and I understand they're growing tadpoles under a heat lamp in a large bowl with some rocks and a couple of hydroponic lily pads. I have serious doubts she's going to convince Daniel to dissect one of his frogs when the time comes. I also see a new aquarium looming on the horizon.

I have him for World History. I'm not as creative as Teal'c or Carter. I just bought a bunch of videos. Based on the lessons, we watch the videos, then do the workbook. It's a couple hours one evening a week to do a couple of lessons.

Unfortunately, the program we chose doesn't recognize Goa'uld as a foreign language, so Carter picked one of the offered languages he's not particularly fluent in and we're all learning Latin. Although why one would want to be fluent in a dead language is beyond me.

The course requirements for ninth grade also include Typing - translated that means keyboarding these days - English and P.E. Teal'c has yet to figure out something really innovative for English, but he did find a really cool keyboarding program that combines learning key placement and key strokes. 

He even figured out how to get Daniel P.E. credit for playing baseball. How cool is that? 

You know, I don't remember having this much fun in 9th grade.

In the meantime, I'm looking at this mountain of paperwork, wondering how the hell it got that high. Oh yeah, half of it is probably Carter and Teal'c's reports for the last two weeks. That would be the last time I cleared my in-box. 

No need to waste time reviewing their work. I quit that about two days after Carter's first report, though I initially gave Teal'c a little longer, English being a foreign language and all. But he caught on quickly. 

In just half an hour I've got all their reports signed and in a folder to drop off with Hammond when I go down to visit the classroom. 

With a groan I start on the next stack, borrowing a leaf from Teal'c's notebook and telling myself I'll give it two hours and take a break. 

T tells me English is the only subject he has to use that incentive with for Daniel. The kid figures he can already read, write and speak English. Why should he have to learn about dangling participles and transitive verbs? 

For once, shuffling through this stuff goes relatively quickly. So quickly, in fact, when I look at my watch again its 1400 hours. Surprised, I glance up at the wall clock just to be sure my watch hasn't gone haywire. Six hours of paperwork and I'm thinking the time went by quickly? 

Hey, my desk is clear. That in itself is a minor miracle. Quick, let me sneak out before somebody else lands their stack of paperwork in my in-box.

I grab the folder for Hammond, check for my keys and key card, and exit my office just as an SF is headed down the hall toward my office.

"Sir! Colonel?"

I stop reluctantly, raising an eyebrow. At least his hands are empty. 

"Sir," he's out of breath. "Major Carter is looking for you, sir. She's in the infirmary with Daniel."

"What happened?" I turn immediately to head for the opposite bank of elevators. 

"I don't know, sir. She just sent me to get you."

"Thanks. Did you take the stairs?"

"Yes, sir. The elevator took too long to come. I figured if something's wrong with Daniel, you'd want to know."

He was never Dr. Jackson before he was downsized, so I can hardly make people start calling him Dr. Jackson now, but still, it seems inappropriate for a kid half Daniel's age to be calling him Daniel. 

"Thanks, Carson. I appreciate it."

"Yes, sir. You're welcome, sir."

The elevator here takes to long too, so I head for the back stairs. Going down isn’t as hard on my knees as going up. Still, I can feel it by the time I bang through the infirmary doors. "What's the matter?"

Carter has Daniel on her lap, Teal'c's hovering nearby, and Janet's taking his temperature. 

"99.2," Doc says, passing the thermo scan to the nurse. Janet sits down on the bed facing Carter and Daniel. "You feel any better now?" she asks Daniel.

"He just threw up lunch," Carter informs me, stroking the hair back from his forehead as she cuddles him.

"How much lunch did he eat?" I frown, thinking of last night and again this morning. He's eaten very little in the last twenty-four hours.

"Not much, O'Neill." Teal'c imparts. "Less than at breakfast."

"I think maybe an early night tonight," Janet says, patting Daniel's knee. "How 'bout it, Squirt? You've been going like a house afire since baseball started. You don't play tonight, do you?"

Daniel, chewing half-heartedly on his finger, shakes his head. "Not 'til tomorrow night."

"Well, good. Are you feeling better?" the doc asks again.

Daniel nods, obviously thinking that's the correct answer, but there's indecision in those eyes. He's not sure he feels better, but he knows damn well if he says no, he'll be stuck here for awhile. 

"So then, how 'bout we head for home?" I put a knee on the bed and cross my arms over my chest. "You up for that?" 

"I've still got . . ." he looks at Teal'c with a frown, "something to do. What do we have left to do today, Teal'c?"

"It can wait until tomorrow, Danieljackson. It is most fortuitous O'Neill is ready to depart at this time."

We're so far ahead of schedule with his school work, he could go a couple of months and still not sweat anything. We agreed we would let him work at his own pace, whatever that happened to be, especially since we've got a seven-year-old doing ninth grade work. 

Though he has had no formal education, it's obvious some adult, or perhaps many adults, have spent quality time with him. 

Either that, or like Carter theorizes, little Daniel is able to access big Daniel's knowledge and apply it as needed. In which case, this whole school thing is a huge waste of time; however, if we can't get this Fountain of Youth thingy reversed we'll still need all the proper documentation in regards to schooling

"So, you ready to go home, Sport?"

"Do I have to go straight to bed?"

We all smile at that. "What do you think, Doc? Should I put him straight to bed?"

"A nap might not be a bad idea, sir," she responds, grinning.

"A nap!" Daniel howls, around his finger.

"A nap?" I echo, pleasantly seduced by the idea. Paperwork is better then any sleeping pill I've ever met for inducing a near catatonic state. 

"I'm too big for naps." Despite this assertion he's willing to be carried, leaning to me when I hold out my hands to take him from Carter.

"I'm not." I settle him on my hip and look to Janet for instructions.

"I think he's fine, Colonel. He might have picked up a little bug from one of his teammates or something. Give him some baby aspirin and keep an eye on him, sir. If anything changes, give me a call. Otherwise, have a nice nap. You, young man," she rises and comes over to us, tickling Daniel lightly, "better get more rest. I'm off tomorrow, so I'll see you tomorrow night at the ball field, okay?" 

"Owww!" Daniel says in response to the tickling, hunching his shoulders.

Janet's immediately on the alert. "What?" she frowns, "Daniel, did I hurt you?"

"You poked me with your fingernail." He pulls up his shirt and points to an invisible mark just to the right of his belly button. 

"Oh! I'm sorry. Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

He lets her, rubbing the spot even after she pulls his shirt back down.

I lift an eyebrow again, but Frasier only shrugs. "It's nothing to worry about, Colonel. These things come and go in kids."

"I'm gonna take your word for it, Doc. Carter, Teal'c, we're gonna head for home. Would one of you mind dropping this by the General's office for me?" I hold out the folder of reports.

"Sure," Carter says.

Teal'c appropriates it before Carter can get to her feet.

"I will take it directly there, O'Neill."

"Great, thanks. We'll see you guys in the morning and we'll see you tomorrow night, Doc."

"Looking forward to it," Janet says with a wave, already on the way back to her office.

"I'm going to go feed our tadpoles, Daniel," Carter says, "See you tomorrow. You too, sir."

"Yeah, tomorrow. Come on, Sport, we need to go change before we can leave."

In the locker room, Daniel lovingly folds his new pants and shirt and lays them tenderly on the small shelf in the bottom of his locker. The rod is too high for him to reach, as are both hooks, so the jacket gets folded as well and placed on top with a small pat of satisfaction. 

I need to talk to Siler, see if we can't make some accommodations to his locker so it's more useable at his current height. 

The drive home is relatively quiet. While he doesn't fall asleep, the usual questions that accompany every trip are missing. 

"What are those big, tall things all along the road?" Telephone poles. "What are all the wires strung between them?" Electricity. "Why does every corner have a stop sign on it?" So cars won't bang into each other. "And trucks?" And trucks. "How long does the snow stay after it snows?" All winter. "Where does the snow go when it melts?" Into the rivers and lakes and streams. "When does it melt?" Never. Oh . . . you meant literally. Usually by the end of April. No later than the end of May.

"Can we watch a movie?" he wants to know as I unlock the front door. 

"Sure, what do you want to watch?"

He shrugs. 

"You want to change out of those clothes?" I toss my keys on the kitchen table and go back to hang my jacket in the hall closet. 

"Why?" Daniel passes his jacket over as well. 

I shrug. "Just thought maybe you'd like to put on sweats or something more comfortable."

"I'm not putting on pajamas in the middle of the afternoon," he announces, seeing right through my ploy.

I just smile and ruffle his hair. "I'm gonna go make a sandwich since I skipped lunch. Want a snack?"

"Nah," he heads for the living room.

"Pick a movie and get it set up. I won't be long." 

He's settled in the recliner by the time I get into the living room. "You sharing, or am I supposed to sit on the couch?"

"There's room for two," he says, quoting me again. At least he didn't add for cryin’ out loud.

He doesn't mind if I eat over his head, so lunch goes on the arm of the chair, Daniel gets tucked into my side and we both sigh as the opening credits of the first Harry Potter movie roll up on the screen. 

Daniel's asleep before we're twenty minutes into the movie and I'm not particularly interested in seeing Harry Potter and the Socerer's Stone for the fifth time, but I was smart enough to grab the remote before I settled us into the recliner. 

I switch to the 6th inning of the Mets and Braves, turn the sound down low and take a moment to be thankful I have a job I love, friends who are more like family, and the ability to enjoy both. Not to mention, at least for now, an amazing kid who lights up my life in a way I thought I'd never experience again. 

The game has been over for an hour when Daniel wakes up, groggy and disoriented. My shirt's soaked all down the right side and he's sweating up a storm, which I think is probably not a good thing.

"Hey, Sport. You want some dinner?"

He closes his eyes again, rubs his nose on my damp shirt and resettles as if he's going back to sleep. 

"Daniel?" I jostle him a little. "How about we put you to bed if you're gonna sleep?"

He slits one eye open, assessing the level of light in the living room. "Too early to go to bed."

"I don't think so, Sport. I'm thinking you're not feeling too well. Want to get in the bathtub or go straight to bed?"

"I don't want to go to bed."

"Okay, bathtub it is."

"I don't want to get in the bathtub."

"Do you just want to stay here and sleep?"

"No."

"Okay, what do you want to do? Do you want some supper? How 'bout some soup?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Maybe some crackers and juice?"

"I think I'll get in the bathtub." He does an excellent seal impression, undulating off my lap and out of the recliner, evolving back into a two-legged boy as he heads in the general direction of the bathroom.

It's been interesting to see the origins of some of adult Daniel's less endearing traits. For instance, that stubborn, when I'm right and I know I'm right, I can't be budged even with a two-by-four, trait. In a seven-year-old Daniel, for some reason, that particular trait is considerably less annoying. I suppose it could be because at seven, I can still out think him. 

Just barely. But it does mean I can usually convince him what I want him to do is the right thing to do. 

Not tonight. He's not eating and that's all there is to it. 

I pull my sticky, sweaty t-shirt off my chest and follow him up the stairs.

Despite his morning avowal he didn't want to go to bed early, he's willing enough, when he gets out of the tub, to crawl into bed, but only if I'll read.

As this is no hardship for me, I readily agree, and we spend a pleasant hour reading Susan Dexter's The Ring of Allaire. 

We'll probably have to go back and reread some of Tristan's adventure in Darkenkeep. I think Daniel fell asleep before I was ready to quit reading and it doesn't count as reading ahead if I'm still reading out loud.

So the house is quiet tonight. Not particularly a good kind of quiet though. 

I'm restless. Jazzed in a negative sort of way and find myself checking on Daniel half a dozen times before I'm ready to head for bed myself.

He's not happy with me when I wake him to take his temperature around 11:00. Nor cooperative when I try to get him to take some children's Tylenol. 

He doesn't like grape flavor and that's all we have left from the bout with the allergies and ear infections.

However, on this, I am insistent, and even when he was big I could be just as stubborn as Doctor Jackson.

Having accomplished my goal, I head for bed myself, but I’m awake again at one o'clock.

My dreams have not been pleasant and I don't really want to go back to sleep. So I roll out of bed to go check on my Littlest Ancient.

"Is it time to get up already?" Daniel asks wearily as I enter his room.

And here I thought I was in stealth mode, sneaking in without making a sound. I could swear his eyes were closed.

The room is almost as light as day, but there's a quality to the moonlight missing in the murky light of a sunless dawn. An ethereal quality that gilds Daniel, makes him shimmer with an otherworldliness foreign to my earthbound state of mind.

Yes, I go through the Gate. Yes, I travel on a regular basis to other worlds; that's not the kind otherworldliness I'm talking about. 

I know this a trick of the light. I do. But it still makes my blood run cold. I'm reminded, forcefully, of the last time he looked like this.

I'm staring at a gauze-wrapped body when I feel a tentative touch. The grip firms and I turn to find Daniel standing behind me with a hand on my shoulder.

In the blink of eye we're both standing in the Gateroom. The event horizon shimmers behind Daniel, beckoning my best friend on to another adventure.

He wants to go. He asks me to let him go. He's not really asking for permission, although there is an element of that. It's more like he's asking for my blessing. 

This is my best friend. Despite being furious with him for asking, how can I withhold it?

I shake off the memory as I sit down on the side of the bed. "No, Sport. It's not time to get up yet. How come you're awake?" Automatically I lay a hand on his forehead. 

Uh oh, temp's up again. 

"I don't feel good," he murmurs. "Why are you awake if it's not time to get up?" Daniel returns, letting go of the pillow he's curled around as he turns on his back with a sigh.

"Worried about you. Since you're awake, how 'bout we take your temperature again?"

He rolls his eyes at me, but acquiesces without argument. 

It's only up a degree from when Janet took it this afternoon in the infirmary - 100.2. I put the thermo scan back on the dresser next to his bed.

"Well?" he wants to know.

"Not terribly high. Maybe some more aspirin? It might help you feel better enough to sleep again."

"It didn't the last time," he says, scowling. He really doesn't like the grape-flavored stuff. 

"I think it's probably worth a try."

"Maybe if you take some it will help you stop worrying about me," he snarks, still scowling.

Oh yeah, channeling adult Daniel here. 

"I don't think children's aspirin will do me much good. But, if it helps you feel better, then I can stop worrying about you." 

If at first you don't succeed, try guilting him. This method is occasionally very effective, though it worked better with adult Daniel.

"All right," he sighs now. 

It's only been a couple hours of hours since I dosed him, so I only give him half a dose this time, especially after realizing he's right, not even a regular dose seems to have done much good.

I wonder if I should call Janet? Probably not necessary. 

I get up and go to the bathroom for a washcloth, wet it in cold water and come back to lay it over his forehead.

"It's dripping," he complains, swiping at a little rivulet of water running down his temple into his hair.

"Sorry, I'll wring it out better."

I do, bring it back and drape it over his forehead again. This time he doesn't seem to mind. 

"Daniel, does your head hurt?"

He shrugs. "I just don't feel good."

"Yes, but does anything hurt?" I persist.

He eyes me for a minute, calculatingly. "It doesn't hurt here," he raises an elbow and touches it.

I kiss his elbow.

"This doesn't hurt," he shoves aside the washcloth to touch his temple.

"You've seen Indiana Jones one too many times," I complain, but kiss his temple anyway.

He gives me a small smile and closes his eyes like Indy. 

I hope he'll sleep like Indy.

"Want to turn over? I'll rub your back."

I pluck the washcloth up and Daniel turns over. The finger slides into his mouth as he wiggles to get comfortable on his stomach and in a few minutes, the tense little back under my hand rises and falls on a long sigh, and I feel him slide toward oblivion.

He stirs as I start to get up, slides that finger out of his mouth and reaches for me. "Don't go," he says sleepily.

We are scheduled off-world tomorrow. Actually that would be today. I should be sleeping. 

My kid wants me to stay. "I'll stay until you're asleep again." 

A few more slow, almost lazy circles and he's under for good this time. However, there is something about this night, this seemingly uncomplicated illness, that's got me by the craw and won't let go. 

I can't seem to shake the feeling something's seriously wrong here. Something we should be paying attention too and aren't. Something that's going to jump up and bite us in the ass if we aren't careful.

So I slide back against the headboard, make myself as comfortable as possible, and prepare to sit here the rest of the night if necessary. 

I'm not gonna sleep. May as well stay here where I can keep silent vigil if nothing else.

It's nearly dawn and I'm thinking maybe I'm just paranoid, when he starts twitching in his sleep; small spasms causing him to clench his hands and hunch his shoulders.

I still have my hand in the middle of his back and I can feel them strengthening. So I'm not surprised when a particularly intense spasm wakes him. 

"Jack?" He surges up in bed and vomits violently. 

Shit. I probably should have seen that coming. It's useless to try to get him across the hall now. I slide an arm under his chest so he doesn't go face first in the mess.

We're both pretty well slimed by the time the fist clenched in his viscera lets go and he's trembling from head to toe. 

But at least it's finally done. 

Maybe now we can both get some much needed sleep. I strip him to his underwear, strip off my own filthy t-shirt, pick up Daniel, and one-handed strip the sheets and blankets off the bed. 

I detour us out to the mud room with the soiled bed clothes and head back to the bathroom with Daniel. His eyes are open, glazed, but open, as I run warm water and prop him in the tub. 

"Is this what it's like to be sick?" 

"Yeah, Sport, this is what it's like to be sick." I remember two months ago, in the infirmary in Honduras, he told me he'd never been sick. So I'm prepared for the next question.

"Am I going to die?"

"No, Daniel. I know it probably feels like it right now, but it's just the flu, Sport, and very few people die from the flu anymore. I think the worst is over for you."

"I don't like being sick," he says, flinching a little as I run the soapy washcloth over his belly.

"Nobody does, Sport." 

I no more than have him dried off and into clean p.j.’s when it starts up again. 

This time both of us are trembling from head to toe by the time I pry his white tipped fingers from their death grip on the porcelain god of all sick humans. I unwrap the soiled blanket I've been nominally able to keep around him and peel him out this pair of soaked and smelly p.j.'s. 

He's frightened now, as well as in pain and he clings to me with all the strength he has left. "Make it stop, Jack," he moans pitifully. "I don't like being sick," he says again, silent tears streaking pale as milk cheeks.

"I know, Sport, I know. Let's get you back in the tub, okay?"

"No, I just want to lie down."

"How about if I run the water kind of shallow so you can lie in the tub while I get your bed made again."

"No," he moans, "don't leave me." His fingers scrabble uselessly at my bare chest. He's temporarily lost every bit of fine motor control he possesses.

"I'm not leaving you." I pull him against me so he at least has the security of being held close. "But we gotta get you cleaned up again, Sport." 

I haven't let the water out of the tub from the last time, and it's cooled already, so I wrap my shivering, trembling bundle in a towel and sit down with him on the edge of the tub surround as it drains.

Before I have enough water in the tub to get his rinsed again, he twists out of my arms and throws himself at the toilet. 

The dry heaves sink vicious claws into him as I sink to my knees behind him and slide an arm around his chest. I can feel the waves of spasming contractions rolling through the small body in the circle of my arm. He's panting heavily, head hanging so low if I wasn't holding him up, he'd be in the toilet.

And this time it's half an hour before the constrictions ease off. Fine tremors continue to wrack the diminutive frame, but the vomiting seems to have let up. 

I let him sink down in the nest of the towels on the floor and lean to the sink for the washcloth. My knee grinds warningly, cartilage against cartilage. It makes an ugly popping sound as I shift back, swearing a blue streak.

"I so don't have time for this shit," I order my knee, bending over my Littlest Ancient. A quick wash with a barely soapy cloth, even quicker rinse and I tuck him up in a clean blanket.

Surely, surely it's over this time, I think, as I gather him up off the floor, ignoring my stupid, screaming knee. I'm still calling Janet. She'll probably be up by now.

I take him with me to get the phone and go back to my room where we can both lie down on the bed comfortably. Once he's situated on his side under the covers, still wrapped in his own blanket, I lay his hand beside his face where his ring finger's convenient for chewing, or sucking, as necessary. He's so spent the hand only twitches toward his mouth before his eyes slide closed. 

Janet's already on speed dial on my phone. I punch the button and wait.

She picks up on the first ring and the first words out of her mouth are, "What's wrong with Daniel?"

I keep forgetting everybody has caller ID these days. "He's sick."

"Uhm," Janet says, and I can 'hear' her scowling, even through the phone line. "Think you could be a little bit more specific, Colonel?"

"Throwing up. As in for the last . . ." I glance at the clock. "Jesus, nearly an hour."

"Jesus has nothing to do with this," she responds tartly. "Is he running a fever?"

"Slight. It was only 100.2."

"That's not so bad in a little kid. I assume it must have stopped since you said he's been vomiting?"

"For the moment anyway."

"Okay, if this has been going on for an hour—"

"On and off," I interrupt.

"If this has been going on for an hour, even on and off, he's probably pretty dehydrated. See if he'll take some juice. Don't give him water; it doesn't tend to stay down well after a round of vomiting like this."

"I can do that. Should I wake him up to make him drink?"

"Yes. If he gets too dehydrated, it will set off a vicious cycle. The dehydration will make him nauseous, the nausea will make him vomit and the vomiting will only make him more dehydrated."

"Great."

"Uh huh," she agrees. "It's good he's not running a high fever, at least. It sounds like a viral thing, rather than an infection. Got any anti-emetic suppositories?"

"Yeah, right." I roll my eyes at the receiver and Janet damn well knows it too. I hear her laugh lightly. "I keep 'em lying around the house."

"They work well for small children when something viral like this won't let up. I'll call in a prescription in case he's starts vomiting again. And do try to get him to drink, Jack. His throat's probably sore, so you might want to try fruit juice instead of anything carbonated, though you may have trouble getting him to drink anything. I'll have the drugstore pull some Pedialite for you too. If you mix it with fruit juice it tastes pretty good and works well."

"I'll call Carter and have her pick it up on her way to work."

"You don't have a drugstore in your area that delivers?"

"Not that I've run across."

"Okay, if I remember right there's an Eckerd near your house?"

"Yeah, that's probably the closest one."

"Good, I'll call Sam for you. How is Daniel now?"

"He's asleep, I think, in my bed."

"Well then, it sounds like he'll be fine. I'll let the General know you won't be in today. I assume you're not still planning to go off-world today?"

"Ahh, hadn't given it much thought this morning, but no. I'm not leaving him in this condition, even if it is over."

"Didn't think you would," Janet says, and I hear a note of satisfaction in her voice. "I'll try to stop by later today."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that."

"Sure, see you later, Colonel."

I click off the phone, toss it on the bed and check to see that Daniel is really sleeping before going to grab a quick shower and a change of clothes.

I'm tucking a clean shirt into my jeans when I hear aggravated grunts, then a thud, behind me. 

Before I can get to him, Daniel's on the floor, struggling against the confinement of the blanket, trying desperately to get to his hands and knees as he starts vomiting again. 

For cryin’ out loud, he's only got stomach lining left to offer up to the porcelain shrine. He's too little to take this kind of abuse! I snatch him up from the floor and rush him back to the bathroom. 

We cycle through the whole shebang again and I can feel his temperature climbing now. When this round is over, I rinse him in the tub and take him back to bed. We're down to his last pair of clean pajamas and somehow, I don't think these are going to stay clean. 

I tuck him back in, cup his cheek to get his attention and tell him I'm going to the kitchen to get some juice. He blinks, but says nothing, just curls up under the covers and closes his eyes again.

He doesn't want to drink and I can see that he thinks it will only make him sick again. He's probably right and I don't have the heart to make him. 

I leave the juice on the nightstand and try Carter's trick. I lie down beside him and snug him back against me. The stiffness slowly leaches out of his body and with a sigh he relaxes.

Except we have two more rounds of vomiting before Carter arrives with the medication. We're back on the bed and Daniel is pretty much out of it when I hear her keys in the door. 

The whole team has keys to my house and we all have keys to Carter and Daniel's houses as well. 

I meet her in the hall, take the bag she silently hands over, and sigh when she briefly touches my hand. "I'm gonna get Teal'c and come back, we can do this in shifts, sir. Want me to start a load of laundry before I go?'

She's delicate, doesn't even mention the horrible smell that pervades the house. 

"Thanks, Carter. You know where everything is?"

"Don't worry, I'll figure it out. It's not like its rocket science, sir." She smiles briefly, starts back down the hall, stops and looks over her shoulder. "I hate this, you know. It's worse than when he was big."

Oh yeah, much worse. At least when he was big he could tell us what hurt, even if we did have to drag it out of him. 

I nod, smile grimly, and turn back to the bedroom.

"Danny?" I kneel beside the bed. "Hey, Sport, Janet sent over some medication she thinks will help stop the vomiting." 

He's not gonna like this.

He forces his eyes open. "’k," he croaks, trying to push up on a non-cooperative elbow.

I keep my hand on his head, threading my fingers through his sweaty hair. "No, I need you to lie down, Sport. On your tummy, okay?"

He obeys without question. There's not a murmur of complaint, he doesn't even flinch as I accomplish the intimate task of inserting the suppository. 

I'm sweating bullets as I adjust his pajamas. This kind of blind trust is so much harder to accept than his constant questioning - 'why' this, 'how come' that, 'where does it say that'.

The unspoken 'I trust you to make it better, Jack' is heartrending, especially when I don't know that it will make it better.

You're killing me here, Daniel. 

And then I have to think; my god, was this reality in his timeline from the very beginning? Is this the reality where our adult Daniel latched onto that unconditional trust he still occasionally blindsides us with? Gotta put that thought away for further study, maybe run it by Carter. Can there be two distinctly different realities that converge in one place? Or did this happen because Daniel ascended?

He stirs a little and I move my hand between his shoulder blades and pat soothingly. "Just lie still for bit, Daniel. Give the medicine time to work, okay."

Obediently he stills, though he turns his head toward me and makes an effort to get his finger in his mouth. He doesn't have the strength to accomplish even that small task. 

I wrap my hand around his tiny fist and move it to his mouth, uncurl his fingers and offer him the ring finger on his left hand.

He gives it a halfhearted chew and closes his eyes on another sigh. 

I hear the washer start down the hall and think we've probably given it enough time. I slide an arm under Daniel to turn him over, my mind elsewhere.

His startled cry of pain jerks me instantly back to the here and now. It barely registers that I hear footsteps pounding back up the hall as I try to gather him to me.

He bucks, jerks away with another smothered cry of pain and buries his face in the blanket, curling up around the hurt, then snapping his legs out straight again with a heart-wrenching cry of anguish. "It hurts . . ." he pants. "It hurts, Jack." 

I grab his hands when he scrabbles for something to hold onto.

"What hurts? The suppository? Daniel! What hurts?" 

Jesus God Almighty! Carter's kneeling beside me, trying to hold his head as he thrashes wildly. 

He yanks his hands free and presses them into his stomach, except that elicits a yowl of pain that sinks into my gut like an icy sword. "We're taking him to the hospital. Now! Call Janet and tell her to meet us there. I'm thinking I've seen these symptoms before, Carter. When his appendix burst last time."

If the look in Carter's eyes is a reflection of mine, I look horrified.

"Oh my god," she breathes. 

I'm never useless in an emergency. I'm always calm, cool and collected. But my hands are shaking like I've just popped a fistful of amphetamines and I cannot get my act together. 

I'm still kneeling here by the bed as Carter pulls the blanket free and wraps it around Daniel. She puts a hand on his forehead, then strokes back his hair before she tilts his chin toward her. "Daniel, look at me for a minute. Just look at me, sweetie. You don't have to do anything, or say anything, just look at me, please."

He tries, but his shoulders hunch against the pain. Carter leans over him and rests her cheek against his so she's speaking directly into his ear, calming him with her voice as much her touch. "We're going to take you to the hospital now. Janet will be there shortly too and we're gonna get this fixed for you. I know it hurts now, sweetie, I know it does." She continues to stroke his hair. "But I promise, it will be better soon. Can you hold on for us for just a little bit longer? Jack's going to pick you up, okay? It will probably hurt a lot for a minute or two and then ease off a little bit. But we're going to get it fixed. You'll be fine. You're gonna be fine."

"It hurts, Sam," there's so little left of his voice, it's hardly more than his lips moving.

"I know, baby," her voice hitches as she gives his shoulders a gentle squeeze. "I know. But we're gonna get it fixed. I'm going to move back, okay? So Jack can pick you up and then we're going to take you to the car and I'm going to drive so Jack can hold you."

"You're gonna make it stop hurting?"

"Soon. I promise. Soon." 

Note to self. Buy that woman the most expensive bottle of champagne you can put your hands on and a dozen roses. She is a jewel among women.

Sam backs off, swiping at tears. "I'll go start the car, sir."

"We're right behind you, Carter." I slide my arms under the blanket wrapped bundle, totally oblivious of the creaking knees. 

Daniel moans pitifully, though the writhing has stilled. 

I'm absolutely positive that's not a good sign.

* * *

For some stupid reason they have to run fifty thousand tests. 

And they won't give him anything for the pain just incase they do have to take him into surgery. 

Stupid, mother-fucking assholes! Of course they're going to have to take him into surgery! And they won't let me stay with him. 

Carter's already been kicked out. They're only tolerating my presence because Daniel won't let go.

"Don't," I order, when a med tech starts to pry Daniel's fingers loose from mine. "I'll do it myself." 

I'm learning a lot from Carter. I bend over Daniel, put my cheek against his and whisper in his ear. "It's gonna be okay, Sport. Janet will be here any minute and they can't kick her out. I'll make sure she knows she has to hold your hand until they take you into surgery, okay?" 

There's betrayal in his eyes when he opens them briefly to look at me. 

I close my own, knowing they're leaking, and squeeze his hand gently before prizing his fingers from my own.

"Colonel," Janet touches my arm. "They really need you to leave, sir."

"Thank God you're here." I reach for Janet's hand. "I know, but Daniel's scared, Doc, and he's still in a lot of pain. He needs you to hold his hand since they won't let me."

She moves immediately into my place, takes the hand I'm still holding and wraps her fingers around it. "I'm right here, Daniel. And in just a few minutes we're going to give you something that will make you go to sleep." She's still talking to him as I back out the door. 

For a moment those eyes flick desperately to me, then close with weary resignation.

I push backwards through the door, grab my head and try to hang on through the tidal wave of emotions that look engendered. 

So much bad shit has happened to Daniel. Image after image crowds my brain until my head is swimming with them. 

"Can't you just give him a break?" Even I don't know who I'm shouting at - God, the universe, myself?

"Colonel." Carter's on one side, Teal'c on the other. "You must be exhausted, sir. Come and sit down. I'll get you some coffee."

"I don't want coffee and I don't want to sit down," I snap, shaking them both off. "I want Daniel to be all right!"

"We all do, sir. Please, come and sit down."

"Majorcarter is correct, O'Neill. Unseemly displays of emotion will only result in our being asked to leave this place. And as long as Danieljackson remains on these premises, so should we."

The only other time I've felt this helpless was sitting here in this very hospital, knowing my son was dead, praying desperately for a miracle I knew damn well wasn't going to happen.

Surely we recognized it in time. Surely there will be no need for miracles today. Modern medical science will surely be enough to compensate for my stupidity. 

Why didn't I recognize the symptoms earlier? Daniel hasn't been himself for the last two days. How could I have been so inordinately stupid?

"You could have done nothing differently, O'Neill," Teal'c falls instep with me.

I can't sit down; I'm too wired to sit down.

"No parent could have identified this sooner then you did." 

"I should have. We've been through this before."

"Dealing with a child is very different than dealing with an adult, O'Neill, even a child as intelligent as Danieljackson. He will be fine."

Somehow my optimism got checked at the door. I latch on to Teal'c's with the fervor of a Pitt bull. We will get through this, just like we have everything else.

I hope.

Desperately. 

And am reminded again of the Gateroom drama almost two years ago.

"Oma," I mutter under my breath, "you better leave him alone." I could swear I hear the gentle trill of a woman's low laugh. 

We've been shunted to the OR waiting room on the fourth floor, where I alternately pace or stare out the window.

"Sit down, Jack, you're wearing yourself out pacing like that, son," the General passes me on his own proscribed circuit. "Daniel's going to need you later."

"Yes, sir. As soon as you sit down, sir."

The General barks a self-deprecating laugh, and sits, damn the man.

I sit too. 

Carter's curled up in one of the more comfortable corner chairs. I know she's not asleep and I'm not sure why she's trying to pretend she is. 

Teal'c's in the other corner, kel'no'reeming and the General and I, until a moment ago, have been sharing the floor space between the seats.

"It's been two hours," I check my watch again, for the fiftieth time in the last hour. "Janet said it shouldn't take more than a couple of hours."

"She said it shouldn't take more than a couple of hours unless there were complications." Carter's pronouncement is muffled from inside her self-imposed cocoon, but I get the gist of it, and then she adds, uncoiling so we get the full effect of this announcement, "Like his appendix was already burst."

"But . . ." I start out of my chair, waving a hand wildly. "It . . ."

"The fact that his temperature was going up steadily as we drove him over here makes me think it's likely, sir."

I know what that means. We've been through this once already. 

"Carter?"

"I'm just saying, sir. I think Janet knew when they took him in. She saw the CAT scan. Complications don't necessarily mean . . ." she trails off.

Teal'c looks over at her. "All will be well, Majorcarter. Danieljackson is as strong and healthy now as he was when this happened to him before. He will overcome this as well."

The hands of the clock on the wall slowly, slowly drag themselves around the face. Another hour passes and I know absolutely something's wrong.

The General gets up from where he's been slumped in a chair for the last hour, announcing firmly, "I'm going to track down some information."

Behind him, Frasier pats him on the back and he swings around stunned.

She's in surgical gear, with those little footie things on, and she came up so silently none us heard her.

We're all on our feet instantly, breathing sighs of relief just at the look on her face. 

"He'll be fine. Unfortunately Dr. Mallek couldn't do a laparoscopy. Daniel's appendix had already burst and there was a lot of cleaning up to do. He'll be on heavy duty drugs for several days at least and in the hospital for a week or so. If you'd like Colonel, we can move him back to the base in a couple of days. Although the Peds ward here is very good about letting parents stay as much as they want."

"SG-1, consider yourselves off the rotation and on stand-down until Dr. Jackson is well again."

"Sir," Janet warns, "that could be several weeks."

"I'm well aware of that, Doctor. I clearly recall how ill Dr. Jackson was last time."

"Well, his age will be a big factor in his healing this time. Young ones bounce back much better than adults with something like this."

"That's good to hear. Just the same, Colonel, Major, Teal'c, you are all on stand-down for the foreseeable future."

"Thank you, sir," Carter and I chorus together.

"My thanks as well, General Hammond," Teal'c intones, bowing his head.

"When can we see him?"

"He's being moved to recovery now. If you can hold your domesticated equines for just a little longer, I'll speak with the recovery nurses. Once they have him settled, they'll probably let you in one at a time. You can come up to the recovery floor now if you like. There's a waiting room up there as well."

"I'm going to head back to the base. I'll stop by later this evening when Daniel's awake."

"He'd like that, General. Thanks for waiting with us, sir."

"No where else I'd want to be, Jack. Keep me in the loop."

"Yes, sir."

And so we begin another waiting game, in a different waiting room. 

Janet makes arrangements for us to see him, even culls a favor by letting us all go in at once. 

It's crowded. The room is full of familiar equipment. It's not like we haven't seen Daniel hooked up to all this shit before. 

We have . . . just not little Daniel. So it's kind of intense for the first couple of minutes. 

Carter's crying. Teal'c puts an arm around her and she buries her face in his shoulder. T's gotten a lot better at this comfort thing, he doesn't even look self-conscious as he holds her with one arm and rubs her back.

We've been told we can touch him, but we can't sit on the bed, and we should avoid any part of him that's hooked up to something. Which means we can hold his little toe. 

There are leads and lines and wires snaking every which way from under the blanket pulled up over his chest. I swear there's a lead snaking out from under the blanket approximately where his left ankle is. What could they possibly be monitoring on an ankle? 

I lean over the railing and brush his hair back off his forehead. "Hey, Sport. I love you and I miss you. Hurry up and wake up so we can talk to you, okay?" I kiss his forehead and hurriedly depart the room. 

This is almost worse than not being able to see him. He looks so tiny in that huge bed, dwarfed by the equipment monitoring his vital signs. 

The sooner he's back on base, the better. At least there I'm intimately acquainted with every piece of machinery Daniel's ever been hooked up to. They're old friends. We've spent a lot of time together, those machines and I, watching over Daniel. 

Frasier stays until he's awake and she can assess his condition before she lets them move him to the pediatric ward. 

The surgeon comes by, and whatta ya know, she's a diminutive blonde, shorter even than the Doc, but with a presence that's so overwhelming you don't realize she's short until after she's blown by you on the way to her next life-saving operation.

The Doc snorts the minute Mallek is far enough away not to hear it. 

"I thought you had to be at least five feet tall to get into the Air Force," I complain, totally reading Frasier's snort.

"What that female individual lacks in stature," Teal'c comments, looking after her, "she compensates for with power."

"Oh yeah, but she's one of the best. Daniel will love her. She's got a great bedside manner with kids. I don't like her much," Janet admits readily. “But I'm glad she was on this morning. Daniel will do very well under her care, I'm sure."

Our Doc has her own brand of presence. We hardly ever remember she's short either, but it's not because she's so arrogant she thinks her shit smells like perfume.

Doc Frasier's got stature over at the SGC because she walks on water around our place. If she doesn't know the answer then she damn well knows where to go to get one and she's not the least bit shy about admitting she doesn't know. Plus, you can be certain by the time whatever crisis we've just handed her is over, she's got the answers and she'll have that knowledge archived for the next time it's needed. 

Yes, siree, Janet Frasier is one smart cookie. She'd tell you she's not, but I'd put her right up there in the brains department with Carter and Daniel.

Once they have Daniel settled in a peds room, we're allowed to visit him for a few minutes all together again. 

"I think it's probably best for Daniel if you stay with him one at a time for now," Doc says after about twenty minutes of team time. "He's going to sleep a lot for the next couple of days, so you should all," she emphasizes the word 'all', "take it in shifts. He'll need a familiar face whenever he wakes up these first few days."

"You said we could move him back to the base in a couple of days," I begin.

Janet holds up a hand. "I did, Colonel. But let's give it a day or two. Daniel might prefer to stay here. There will be many advantages to staying here we can't offer him on base. In a few days they're going to let him out of bed. There will be other children here he can play with, lots of toys and books to entertain him, resources we don't have at the base, sir. Let's just give it some time and see if it's best to move him back. In the long run, it may be. Promise me you'll make a decision based on what's best for Daniel, Colonel."

"Of course I will," I look at her cross-eyed. Where the hell is this coming from?

"Jack, listen to me. I need you to make a decision based on what's best for Daniel, not what you think is best for Daniel."

"What have I done that makes you think I wouldn't do what's best for Daniel?"

"Listen to Teal'c and Sam. They have insights about this Daniel you occasionally miss. Okay? I'm just saying . . ." she trails off.

I'm tired and already disgusted with myself for missing the early signs that should have warned us what was coming, so I can't help but think this has to be based on something specific they won't put on the table. Which of course, just pisses me off more.

"O'Neill," Teal'c rumbles. "I believe Doctorfrasier is trying to convey that here Danieljackson will not feel so alone in his illness. Here he can see many other children are afflicted as well, which will revive some of the confidence this illness may have robbed him of."

"Exactly, sir. Well put, Teal'c. At the base, surrounded by adults, no matter how much we pet and pamper him, he will still feel like the odd man out. Here he will be just one of the gang, so to speak."

"Fine, we can give it a day or two. If he'd rather stay here, he can stay here." I don't think that's gonna be the case, but I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut this time. And their argument has definite merit. 

We'll see.

As it turns out, Daniel does stay in the hospital. The complications from the burst appendix are mild, for which I give fervent thanks to a God I struggle to believe in. Several days of IV antibiotics keep the infection from spreading and in just a couple of days, he's up and pushing his IV pole up and down the hall. 

We join in some verboten wheelchair races out on the terrace, but have to give up on those when we nearly rip out Daniel's IV. 

Fortunately for me in particular, Carter gets it fixed up before the nurses tear me a new one for being involved.

As Janet predicted, Mallek has become a favorite of Daniel's. She certainly is good with the kids, even if she's an egotistical maniac with other docs and most parents.

For some reason she takes to me. She's married, so it can't be that she's coming on to me. After the first couple of mornings, I try to make sure I'm in the shower when she does rounds. 

However, when she waltzes into the very small bathroom and whips open the shower curtain the fourth morning, because she 'needs', ostensibly, to talk to me and, 'honey, you ain't got nothing I ain't seen' drips off her painted lips, I stop avoiding her. 

It's not worth the embarrassment. 

She lost a few brownie points with Daniel over that little shenanigan. He's told me repeatedly he tried to tell her I was in the shower.

We've come to terms, she and I; she takes care of my kid and I let her.

The worst thing about this whole thing, the burst appendix, the whole hospital stay, all the indignities Daniel's had to suffer at the hands of the nurses? 

Missing the last few games of baseball. He was devastated when he realized he'd already missed two games by the time he was really with it again. 

And determined to be up out of his hospital bed and ready to play in time for the last two games, tonight and Thursday night.

He refused to believe it just wasn't possible until Doctor Mallek told him in no uncertain terms this morning he was done with baseball for the season. 

He's been inconsolable since. 

I think Mallek might have released him today, but she thinks I'm stupid enough to give in to his pleading and take him to at least watch the game tonight.

I've had seven years of saying no to Doctor Jackson; seven years of telling him it's time to pack it up and move out; seven years of 'please, Jack, just a few more minutes'; seven years of rescuing Daniel from every damn fix he gets himself into. 

I can say no to Daniel Jackson. 

When it's necessary.

"Want to watch a video?" I ask him now.

He's under the covers, chewing on that finger. I'm not going to go so far as to say he's pouting, I think he's more hurt and disappointed than angry.

He's seven for cryin’ out loud, he's entitled to feel hurt and disappointed at missing out on the last few games of the season.

I put the tape in, corral the remote and sit down on the bed next to my little lump. Carter took Daniel's video camera over to Paige so she could tape the last two games. 

"You might want to take a look at this."

"Hi, Daniel," a familiar voice pipes as CoriAnne's face fills the screen. A close up of her stuck out tongue is followed by the commentary, "It sure sucks that you're stuck in bed! We miss you!" 

This is followed by several similar comments from fellow teammates and a few of the hangers-on. One of whom pulls up her shirt and shoves down her shorts with the comment, "I had my 'pendix out too! See my scar?" 

The camera zooms in on her scar, a tiny little row of what looks like pinpricks. Someone was being careful of her bikini line.

By the time the game starts Daniel's crawled out from under the covers and into my lap where he watches the game with a still subdued demeanor, though eventually he begins to critique the plays and the game. 

When it's over he tilts his head back to look up at me. "I wanted to play really, really bad."

"I know you did, Sport. I'm disappointed too. But there's always next year."

"Not if I get big again," he says sadly, snuggling into the curve of my arm. 

"Hey, I've got an idea." I grab a blanket off the back of the armchair, wrap it around Daniel, and scoop him up. 

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

It's a beautiful day, in the low seventies with bright sunshine and a smooth as silk breeze, which is why I wrapped him in the blanket. 

Daniel lifts his face to the sun as we step out onto the terrace. "Oh," he says, "this is nice. Are we going to the swing?"

"Yep."

"Goody." 

We like the swing. 

I settle us in the right corner, Daniel spooned on my lap so my left arm supports his head, his feet hanging over the arm of the chair and his ear against my heart. He has his finger in his mouth, sucking.

The swing is free standing, solidly built of aged timber, with a slatted bench seat attached by heavy-duty chains bolted into the top of the frame. The kind you see in upscale backyards where the landscaping’s been allowed to run wild, but is considered artistic and costs a fortune to maintain.

We've discovered the swing is good for snuggling and swinging, an unbeatable combination. I shove off with a toe, pull my foot up so we swing gently and close my eyes against the bright sun.

I’m pretty sure Daniel Jackson was born a snuggler. He certainly hasn't reacted to snuggling like it's a new or unpleasant thing. In fact, he's reacted like it's always been a natural part of his life. So if he wasn't born a snuggler, his parents must have given him a lot of physical affection. 

Our adult Daniel Jackson only snuggles when he's sound asleep and gravitating toward the nearest warm body. Otherwise he's pretty clear about his personal space. He's been better since he descended, which is good thing, since even Teal'c occasionally needs to touch him just to make sure he's real, not a figment of our collective imaginations. 

Carter and I? We need to touch him often. 

"Hey, Sport?" I open my eyes.

They've told us he’ll tire easily for quite some time and he's been up from an after-lunch nap for a couple of hours, doing his rounds of the ward. So I'm not surprised he's sucking on that finger. 

He tilts his head and looks up at me trying to suppress a smile while he works at doing the Teal'c thing. He hasn't quite got the eyebrow lift down yet.

I smile and tickle him, very lightly, just so he knows I got the message. "I want to talk to you about a couple of things."

"Impor'an shings, huh?" he says, around the finger.

"Well . . . they're important to me anyway." I'm not sure how to start this, or even if I should bring it up. He was so out of it the morning we brought him in he may not remember any of it. "Usually, if something's bothering you, you tell me, right?"

He nods. 

"Okay. So we haven't had our bedtime ritual in a long time now and that's usually when things come up, so I was wondering if there's anything you want to talk about?"

He looks at me curiously. "Is there something you want to talk about, Jack?"

I drag in air, let it out slowly and plunge in. "Yeah, actually there is. Two things."

"Oookkaay," he responds, grinning mischievously. 

This mimicking stage is something new and I devoutly hope will pass quickly. "When I had to leave you in the Emergency Room, you looked at me as though I'd betrayed your trust by leaving you like that." I don't know that he's old enough to understand I had no choice; however, I don't want to make excuses. And I do want to know what he's thinking, if he even remembers.

"What's betrayed?"

"It means to break someone’s trust. I thought I might have broken your trust. Do you understand that?"

Daniel considers for a moment, chewing on his finger. "That man was going to make me let go of you and you wouldn't let him."

"No, I wouldn't let him, but I did it myself."

He looks up at me again, frowning. "I know you didn't want to leave me, Jack. But even Janet said you had to go."

I squeeze my eyes shut in an effort to keep the tears at bay. When I open them again, he's still looking at me, puzzled now.

"Were you afraid I was gonna die too?" He reaches up to put his hand on my cheek, touching just the tip of his finger to a tear that escapes my rigid control. "Would you be sad if I died?"

I'm very careful, as a snug him to me, not to squeeze him too tightly. "Yes, Daniel, I was afraid. And I would be very sad if you died."

"As sad as you were when Charlie died?"

"Yeah, Sport, as sad as I was when Charlie died."

"Did you cry buckets when Charlie died?"

I don't know if he's going for the comedic routine or not, but it gets a smile anyway. A rueful one, but a smile. "No, I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I never learned how to cry until you came along and taught me a thing or two."

"About crying?" 

Since I have him tucked up under my chin I can't see his face anymore, but I hear the astonishment in his voice. Astonishment tinged with awe.

"About tears and a whole lotta other stuff. I would be very, very sad if something happened to you, Daniel. We just got you back. I was scared to death something was going to take you away again."

"I won't ever leave you either, Jack," he promises solemnly.

"I'm gonna hold you to that, you know." I hug him again and let him slide back down so he's comfortable. 

He has his elbow tucked in tight to his side, which probably means I've pulled his incision holding him so tight. "Sorry, Sport. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"That's okay. It was a good hurt," he snuggles back against my still pounding heart.

"Speaking of hurt . . ." I trail off, closing my eyes. "There's one other thing I want to talk about."

"When you put Janet's medicine inside me."

I swallow hard and drag in air again. "Yeah, that's what I wanted to talk about." How the hell did he know?

"I didn't like it. It hurt awful bad." The finger sneaks back into his mouth and he chews hard for a moment. "I thought I was dying for sure."

"I thought that might be what you were thinking." I tap a foot on the ground to swing us gently. "If you think about it, it didn't really hurt right away, did it? The medicine actually did the job it was supposed to do, it stopped the vomiting."

"I still don't like it and I don't want to have it ever again."

"Okay, we can handle that. I just want to be sure you know I would never, ever hurt you on purpose."

"I know that," he says, like I'm too stupid for words for even bringing it up. 

I'm so relieved I don't even mind if he thinks I'm stupid. 

As furious as I get with adult Daniel when he pulls some of his more insane stunts, blithely expecting we'll somehow pull his ass out of the fire if he starts to get fried, I would be absolutely sick if I were the one who betrays that blind trust . . . now at least. 

Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. It never stopped me before. Machello, the Enkaran's . . . yeah, I know.

But I hadn't met this incarnation of Daniel Jackson then. 

When Daniel Jackson gives you his trust, he gives it to you unconditionally. And it obviously doesn't matter what incarnation he presently inhabits. I was stupid enough not to recognize that for a long, long time. And damned if that doesn't put me right back at wondering if two distinctly different realities can merge into one timeline. 

Note to self. When you're giving Carter the champagne and roses, remember to ask her about this theory. This is too much of a quantum leap for me to wrap my head around.

Daniel's asleep; a discovery we made quite by accident. 

The heavy duty antibiotics they gave him to knock back the infection also knocked out all of the good flora and fauna in his body. You know, the stuff that helps you digest your food and turns the waste into solid matter instead of . . . well, I'm sure you get the picture. It wasn't so bad while he was still doped up on pain meds, but as soon as they started backing off on those, his poor abused digestive tract went on strike.

It must have been about four days after the surgery, Carter was doing her best to entertain him but he wasn't having any of it. 

The bed was too hot, the sheets too uncomfortable, the TV too loud, the channel wasn't right, there was nothing he wanted to watch, he didn't want to be read to, and he didn't want to play games. In short, he was a miserable little zel’rac. Teal’c’s word. He says it means miserable, pain-in-the-ass, sick kid - emphasis on miserable.

Teal'c picked him, wrapped a blanket around him and came out here to the swing. When Daniel opened his mouth to complain, Teal'c told him to shush, close his eyes and his mouth, and relax. It took all of five minutes after the swing was in motion and he was out like a light. 

Daniel, that is, not Teal’c.

I think we might have to install one of these things at home.

I close my eyes, flex my foot so our swinging continues without interruption and contemplate, from behind closed lids, what we're going to do with all the stuff that's accumulated in Daniel's hospital room.

For about an hour, several days back, the room looked like a cross between a zoo and a terrarium. There are still enough stuffed animals in there to start a petting zoo and we had flowers, plants and balloons enough to open our own florist shop. 

The flowers and plants had to go. Because of all the other shit he's on right now, the allergy meds are ineffective. I tuned out the minute they started talking about betacarotine blockers, or whatever.

All I knew was Daniel popped some stitches the first time he sneezed and I had every available nurse on the ward in there clearing out the floral offerings thirty seconds later.

I'm gonna have to talk to him about leaving some of this stuff here when we go home tomorrow. If I spin it right, we might not have to take any of it. And hey, I can tell everybody to write it off on their taxes as a donation. You can make donations to non-profit organizations, right?

A wonderful smell sneaks into my late afternoon siesta, enticing me gradually to consciousness.

Our swing is motionless and there's a small table set up in front of us, complete with dishes and flatware, even a candle set inside a glass lantern.

Good thing I’ve given up the special ops.

Teal'c and Carter have brought supper and we're apparently eating outside tonight. 

Teal'c is pouring sparkling something out of a bottle into the wine glasses Carter's unwrapping as she takes them out of the picnic basket. They both look over as we stir. 

"Evening, sir. Have a nice nap?"

If I wasn't drooling before, I am now; salivating at the wonderful smells emanating from that picnic basket. "Yeah," I cover a yawn with the back of a hand. "It smells wonderful. Whatta ya got, Carter?"

Daniel pushes off my chest, yawning too, and sits up to eyeball the food interestedly as Carter starts pulling it out. 

He hasn't been too keen on food of late. So this is a good sign.

He slides off my lap, tugging at his pajama bottoms, the waistband irritates the stitches, and goes over to investigate. Carter bought him a nightshirt, blue of course, but he refuses to wear it unless he can wear underwear, which defeats the whole purpose.

This is one of those times his stubborn streak is costing him. 

He gets irritated every time his pj bottoms slide down, which is often since he has no hips and no ass to hold them up when he shoves them down to keep them off the incision. 

Ahhhh, the indignities of life.

There are mashed potatoes, the rolls Daniel likes from the deli, cranberry sauce, salad, and it looks like chicken; all soft food he can eat, plus blue Jell-O mixed with Coolwhip for dessert.

For the first time since he got sick, Daniel eats with something close to an appetite.

I can tell he's still wary. He doesn't want to reawaken that sleeping dragon in his belly and he's not sure what might or might not catch its attention again. Despite regular reassurance it's gone, the dragon's been slain, he's not quite ready to believe yet.

"Hey guys!" We all look up to find Paige and CoriAnne bouncing onto the terrace. "You up for some more company?" Looks like they had Tigger vitamins for breakfast.

"Uh," I glance at Carter and Teal'c. "How much company?"

The entire home school contingent showed up yesterday afternoon, thanks to Paige.

Eleven kids and three moms. I thought the nursing staff was going to have a fit!

They'd made cards for Daniel and decided they’d deliver them in person. A couple of them brought homework assignments they wanted Daniel's help on and the moms' had cake and ice cream for everybody on the ward. 

I think in the end, the nurses were pleased as punch with our little crew.

"Just us ... and the baseball team! Surprise!" 

Oh for cryin out loud, we're in for it now. These are not your typical overprotected, quiet, dare I say it . . . nerds, that make up our home school group. 

These are rowdy, uncivilized barbarians for the most part, my kid excluded of course, who don't understand the word no. I don’t think the nursing staff are going to be quite as happy with this contingent.

Teal'c snatches Daniel up out of the way as the flood of small humanity pours onto the terrace shouting and jostling for pride of place.

"Hey Daniel!"

"Did you watch the video of the game?" CoriAnne waltzes over to collect hugs from both Carter and I.

"Did you see MY scar?"

"Are you coming back tomorrow night?"

"We whupped ass, man!"

"Tyler!" someone admonishes.

"Too bad you weren't there to see it," Tyler continues, unabashed.

In Teal'c's arms, Daniel smacks both hands over his ears. "Quiet!" he yells. 

Surprisingly, the crowd stills. Fourteen small faces turn up to Daniel. 

Coach, along with his band of cronies, saunters in after the team, along with his wife and son and several other parents. 

The entire baseball contingent has made the pilgrimage to see us.

Wow!

Our little hanger-on from the video, Tyler’s baby sister, Mallory, pounds on Teal'c ‘s knee to get Daniel’s attention. "See, did you see it?” She pulls her shirt up again. “I had my 'pedix out too. Did you get to eat ice cream and stuff, Dan'el?"

"Mal, put your shirt down, it's not lady like to be showing your chest," Daniel informs her. 

"Hey, Danny," Coach says, snitching a roll, "we really just came by to say hi and tell ya we've missed you, bud. Especially your batting average, my man. We've just barely managed to pull off wins the last two games. We're missing you bad, bro! But we gotta run. We need to get in a little practice before the game tonight."

"Hey, Danny?" Coach's wife, Athelia, adds, taking the roll from her husband’s hand and putting it back. "We been praying for ya, hon. We put you on our prayer chain, so you better be getting well, boy, or you'll be answering to the Mt. Zion First Baptist prayer chain."

“Dan’el!” Mallory dances around Teal’c, grabbing one of Daniel’s bare feet and giving it a tug. “Hey Dan’el!”

“Oww!” Daniel protests, jerking his foot out of her reach as her mom swoops in and grabs her up.

“You tell Daniel you’re sorry, Mallory. You hurt him.”

Big, fat tears immediately well up and spill over. “I sorry, Dan’el. Did I hurt you?”

Daniel’s still frowning, so she must have gotten him pretty good. He’s got his hand pressed to his side and I see tears welling in his eyes too. “Its okay, Mallory,” but he puts his head down on Teal’c’s shoulder.

Quick, a distraction. “Hey guys, you're are gonna tape tonight’s game and Thursday night’s too, right?”

“We’re taping tonight,” Paige waves from behind the video camera she's using to record this outpouring of love. “Of course we’ll tape Thursday night’s game; if we win tonight.”

See, it's not just us. Daniel engenders this kind of reaction no matter what age he is, no matter where he is, whether it’s on Earth or out among the stars, traipsing around the galaxy making new friends. 

"So how about a double header? My house, Saturday afternoon, barbecue after we watch the games?" It's the least I can do since I can't let him go Thursday night either.

The cheers echo back and forth between the terrace walls. 

“Colonel Jack’s!”

“We get to go to Colonel Jack’s!”

“Hey, Daniel, we’ll bring the trophy with us!”

I put my hands over my own ears; it barely lessens the din.

"You got emails, Coach?" I have to shout over the noise.

"I'll get you the list, Colonel."

"We'll send directions."

"We'll bring the food, Jack,” Athelia whirls up her toddler prowling around Teal’c’s ankles. “You won't have time to worry about it with a little one just home from the hospital. Let us do this."

"That would be extremely kind of you, Mrsathelia," Teal'c responds before I can get anything out. "And ColonelO’Neill is extremely grateful."

Athelia winks at Teal'c and grins at me. "You can provide the grill, Colonel."

"I certainly can do that," I manage, surprised and a little taken back to be included in this outpouring of love. 

True to his word, Coach doesn’t let them linger long. 

I notice Carter slip out after Athelia and just shake my head. Well. Looks like I won't have to lift a finger here. 

Which is a really good thing, because I realize, as the last parent shepherds the last kid off the terrace - I'm exhausted. And Saturday is only three days away. 

What was I thinking?

I flop down on the swing, arms and legs hanging off, absolutely beat. 

I don't realize until much later, Carter takes a picture, with her phone no less. She's scrap booking this entire journey back into the age of innocence for Daniel. For some reason she thinks he's going to want to revisit this when he's big again.

Eventually it becomes the last picture in the photo album. 

Jack O'Neill, down for the count.

Daniel, still in Teal’c’s arms, leans over Carter’s shoulder to look at the picture. “I think you better sleep in my bed tonight, Jack. I’ll sleep in the chair.”

All I can say is, “It’s a damn good thing we’re going home tomorrow.”

~*~


End file.
